


December is Family Time

by EzzyAlpha



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Also There's Snowflakes, Coffee and Hot Chocolate, Creepy Uncle Doc Scratch, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, General Cute Things, Love at First Sight, Old Train Stations, Pure Sugary Fluff, Sibling Incest, Siblings Separated At Birth, Winter, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EzzyAlpha/pseuds/EzzyAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To: tipsygnostalgic1989@hotmail.com<br/>From: tentacletherapist@gmail.com</p>
<p>Hello, I’m Rose Lalonde. You have most likely never heard of me before. There’s no easy way to say this, believe me, I’ve been trying all night.<br/>You’re my biological sister.<br/>--</p>
<p>Rose Lalonde was separated from her sister, Roxy, as a baby. After the death of her adoptive guardian, she tracks Roxy down and arranges a meetup. However, Rose quickly realizes she has more than sisterly feelings for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	December is Family Time

Your “Uncle” said your mother was a drug addict who OD'd one day, slipping away with a needle in her arm. Coke, Weed, LSD. You name it, she did it all at one point. Uncle spun wild tales of abuse and would always say how lucky you were to be taken away from her.

The older you got the harder it was to believe him. Uncle Scratch was a bit of a creep, even if he was a good guardian.

Even though he raised you, you could never call him your family. He was your uncle, not father or dad. He paid for violin lessons, horse riding, and private school. Made sure you had the chance for plenty of socializing, didn’t force you to socialize.

You’re pretty sure he didn’t love you. You don’t blame him for it though sometimes you wonder why he even bothered to take you in. Perhaps it was simply one of those cases in which a rich old man without family simply needs an heir.

It doesn’t matter much anymore. He’s dead after all.

If you were younger, you would have said it didn’t matter to you, that you loved him as much as he loved you, which is to say, not at all.

But you’re no longer a teenager.

You were rather fond of the old man. He was everything you had.

With his death came tears but also much greater things. The money didn’t interest you, nor did the ownership of the mansion you grew up in.

There was a briefcase with your adoption papers. With all your important papers in fact, but you were too surprised to care about anything but the name laid out on paper in front of you.

You knew your mother’s full name. Although your guardian had made you keep her last name rather than adopting his, you had never known it.

This opened up a world of possibilities.

For months, it was all you could think about. Discovering your biological family was nothing more than a wild dream before and now it was a very real possibility.

You wondered if your grandparents were alive, if your grandmother would open the door and gasp in surprise clutching a picture of your mother to her chest. If she’d invite you in and feed you cookies and pie and meatloaf.

Maybe you had a real uncle that shared your violet eyes and interest in literature. A cool aunt with fair hair and occult ties.

What if you had a family out there somewhere.

Perhaps a father.

Other times you had very different fantasies.

Showing up at your grandparents house only to be thrown on the street, a memory of a daughter disowned.

An uncle who didn’t believe your words, an aunt who latches onto you hoping to get some of your fortune.

A father who doesn’t even know you exist.

You forced yourself to search. At first, nothing was too surprising.

Your mother, who died of an overdose. Newspaper clippings, adoption papers.

You dug deeper and hit rock-bottom.

There was nothing.

Your mother was an orphan with no siblings, the father unknown.

You cried, you’re not ashamed to admit it. You almost gave up on everything when something caught your eye. You read everything more carefully, bent over your collected files.

In your haste you missed one important detail.

Your mother left behind two children.

You had a sibling.

You jumped back into the search.

After laborious efforts, including the help of several reconnecting agencies and more bribes than you can remember, you found her. A Facebook profile, a mention on a high school website, even her Xbox gamertag.

Your hands were sweaty and you had trouble breathing while typing the email that was your only chance to reach your only living family. More than once you got up from your chair and walked around the room, pacing back and forth.

What were you supposed to say?

Hi, I’m Rose Lalonde and I’m your long lost younger sister.

Too casual.

Hello, my name is Rose Lalonde and I have recently discovered we share parentage. I believe you are my older-by-two-years sister.

Too formal.

You managed to type something half decent eventually.

_To:_ [ _tipsygnostalgic1991@hotmail.com_ ](mailto:tipsygnostalgic1991@hotmail.com) _(Roxy Strider)_

_From:_ [ _tentacletherapist@gmail.com_ ](mailto:tentacletherapist@gmail.com)

_Subject: I believe we need to talk_

_Hello, I’m Rose Lalonde. You have most likely never heard of me before. There’s no easy way to say this, believe me, I’ve been trying all night._

_You’re my biological sister._

_I know it’s something rather hard to believe. I don’t expect you to immediately welcome me into your arms and spent Christmas together or anything really. But I have the confirming paperwork._

_If you could respond to this rather than ignoring and deleting it I’d be rather grateful._

For two weeks you obsessively checked your email.

For two weeks you sulked in your room because you didn’t get a response

On the third week you had given up when a notification popped up as you skimmed Wikipedia’s article on Freud for the 34th time.

_From:_ [ _tipsygnostalgic1989@hotmail.com_ ](mailto:tipsygnostalgic1989@hotmail.com) _(Roxy Strider)_

_To:_ [ _tentacletherapist@gmail.com_ ](mailto:tentacletherapist@gmail.com)

_Subject: RE: I believe we need to talk_

_WOw, omg thats so fucking cool, I can’t believe you found me. Me and my bros tried to find you some years back but we couldn’t, omg I’m so happy, we have to meet up sometime!_

_Oh, but you’re right, we hsould check out the paperwork tho, but really im so excited_

_PS: who even uses email anymore besides old business men, holy shit you’re like 19, just add me on facebook_

_Ttyl_

You reread that message at least ten times.

Eventually you did add her on Facebook, Skype too.

You arranged a meeting.

Which leads you into today, a cold December morning, and you are sitting at a café inside an old train station, appropriately waiting for a train to arrive.

You’re scribbling on your notebook to keep busy but it’s really nothing more than random figments of thoughts, word games and your grocery list.

Oh yeah, you need eggs.

You scribble that down. Loud wailing breaks your concentration and you look up at the coffee counter. There’s a man with two kids, one of them is crying, the other looking ashamed. His father is yelling something about pushing his sister.

You find yourself smiling.

Your gaze travels back to the notebook and you reread the note at the top.

1 PM it says. It’s 12:46.

You’re nervous.

A train pulls into the station. Your eyes search the crowd that quickly forms as the commuters exit.

The train leaves. No sign of her.

Your heart sinks. You slick your hair away from your eyes and return to your notebook.

It’s around 1 PM when another train arrives and leaves without even a trace of Miss Strider.

Roxy.

You lean back on your chair and check your cellphone.

Nothing. You quickly log on to Facebook. Nothing there either.

You hesitate before checking out her profile.

It’s undeniable she looks like you. Taller, slimmer, tanner, different hair style, different eye color…But she looks so much like you. It’s uncanny, like looking in the mirror and someone only slightly different staring back. It’s surreal, like something out of science fiction. You briefly wonder if this is what people who grew up with their siblings feel like.

You doubt it.

Your fingers hover the touch screen and you swallow drily. It would be narcissistic to call her beautiful.

But she is. There’s something about her that you simply don’t have.

Another train. Once again she doesn’t appear.

It’s almost 1:30 and you’re about to give up. You remain composed even as the pressure in your chest makes it unbearable to breathe. You get up, grabbing your messenger bag and notebook, tucking your pencil behind your ear.

When you’re about to leave you hear the now familiar sound of a train arriving.

You fidget before turning around to look at the crowd. You stare intently, your eyes running from person to person.

The last few travelers are exiting. There’s no longer a fast moving crown and people are walking into the train. You let your head drop.

“Shit, wait!”

You’re startled by the yelling, so are some other people in the station. Someone with blond hair and a bright pink hoodie jumps out of the train right before the doors close.

She steadies herself as the train leaves, smoothing out the ruffles of her (incredibly short) skirt, adjusting the hood of her coat, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, one stubborn curl still sticking out.

It’s her. It’s really her.

You try to walk but you’re glued to where you stand.

She looks around, confusion spread on her face. Her eyes catch yours and she lights up, a smile slowly forming.

She’s completely, totally, amazingly beautiful and you suddenly feel very warm despite the December weather.

You don’t know what to do so you wait as she walks, no, runs to you.

You think you should smile too. You think you should perhaps shout out to her. At least move a little, do something other than stare as she approaches fast.

You don’t do anything.

After what seems like eons, she reaches you, breathless and still grinning.

“Rose?”

She says your name like she’s known it, known you all her life.

You regain some of your motor functions and manage to choke out something.

“Hello. Roxy.”

You hope you look at least somewhat calm.

She lunges at you and pulls you into a tight hug and all semblance of calm you maintained has been completely lost.

You sputter as you try to think of something to say. She’s warm and soft and smells of flowery perfume.

She freezes for a second and lets go of you, stepping back. Her hands leave your back and cover her face as her eyebrows shot up.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m just so happy to finally meet you-“

“It’s fine.” You say. There’s a slight tremble in your voice but you think she didn’t notice.

She stares at you expectantly and you swallow dry.

“It’s very nice to meet you.”

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I slept through my alarm because I stayed up late, and my cellphone wasn’t charged, everything that could go wrong did. But at least I got here.”

She grins again and you somewhat wish she was still hugging you.

-

“So, I’m in college I guess, but I don’t really have a major yet. I was thinking maybe biology or something. I like animals a lot. But I kinda want to stick to computers too? I gotta show you my coding skills sometime. If you want me to, of course.”

“I’d love to.”

“How about you, though?”

She sips her hot chocolate and smirks. You can’t help but smirk back.

“English Literature with a minor in Psychology.”

“Wow, that’s so cool! Do you write or something? I like writing but I’m kinda terrible at it so…”

“I do write.”

You’re at the same café you were in when waiting for her. The station is fairly busy at this time of the day but you’ve found a secluded spot where you can talk in peace.

Roxy is everything and nothing you expected her to be.

She’s excitement and warmth and open. She’s not you but that doesn’t mean you dislike her, quite the opposite in fact. You’re not sure what to do if you were confronted with a carbon copy of yourself. Probably bitch at her.

You stare at her as she speaks. The way she bites her lip when she’s thinking. How she plays with her hair without realizing. Her eyes are lighter than yours, brighter and her eyelashes are long and light.  She sometimes stops and smiles briefly only to keep on rambling almost immediately.

“Rose?”

“Uh?” you ungracefully squawk.

She pouts ever so slightly and rolls her eyes.

“I asked you about your family.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes flick over from her eyes to the table and you contain a frown. You’re not sure what you can say.

“I was adopted by one Doctor Scratch. PHD, not MD. I called him Uncle. He was an excellent guardian. Like I’ve told you, he passed away a few months ago.”

You give a slight shrug and look back at her.

“That’s about it really.”

She seems somewhat sad. This is why you dislike talking about Scratch.

“What about your family?”

Time to change the focus of the conversation.

She smiles and takes out her wallet. Oh god, she has pictures.

“Well, I was around foster homes for a while, until I got placed with Sawtooth in Texas, who ended up officially adopting me. See, this is him. He raised me and two other kids, along with his biological brother. He’s a really great guy. These are my adoptive bros, Dave and Dirk, and Sawtooth’s bro, Squarewave. Dave and Dirk are actual brothers; they got lucky I guess…”

She flashes you a sad smile and carries on.

“I live with Dave and Dirk nowadays, over here, but we still go back to Saw’s place, for, like, holidays and stuff. The three of us are pretty close and shit. Dirk is the oldest of us. He’s studying robotics. Dave is slightly older than you, I think? He’s in film school. Dude, his movies are so great, I really need to show you sometime.”

You smile as calmly as possible. She has a family.

You’re starting to think this was a bad idea.

“Hey, you should spend Christmas with us, back in Texas?”

Your jaw goes slack and you’re too stupefied to care about how ridiculous you must look.

“Or maybe New Years. Christmas might be awkward, I mean, what am I saying, we just met.”

She smiles nervously and plays with her hair.

You’re not sure how to react.

“I’d love to.”

That came out of nowhere. You smile. She squeals excitedly and your smile grows.

“It’s going to be so much fun. You don’t have to get anyone presents, I mean, you don’t know anyone so…Maybe we should meet up before? So it’s not that awkward for everyone? Oh man, this is going to complicate the plans but it’s gonna be awesome!”

Her happiness is contagious. You don’t remember the last time you smiled this much.

-

“Oh man, how did six hours flow by like this?”

Roxy is standing in the middle of the station looking outside. It started snowing while you were talking. The sun has set.

There’s a big spotlight behind, positioned just so that she is bathed in light.

She’s gorgeous.

You realize your own feelings and it’s like a brick house fell on you.

Maybe a castle.

Comparisons aside, you can’t move, you can’t breathe, because you have feelings for your biological sister, who you’ve known for a full month.

She’s distracted by the falling snow, still smiling. You force yourself to walk over to her. She looks at you and smiles, can’t see through you, isn’t aware of your wretched feelings.

She rests her hand on your arm and you freeze.

“The train should be here soon.” You say, just so you don’t say something else.

Her smile falters and she looks at the floor.

“I guess we just have to schedule another meet up then.” She says.

You nod before realizing she’s not looking at you.

“Whenever you’re available.”

It’s straining to speak when your chest aches so much.

You check your cellphone and you only have 5 minutes left, at the most 10 if she sneaks onto the train at the last minute. You lick your lips and compulsively take your hands in and out of your pockets. You simply cannot get comfortable.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” she asks. Your eyebrows go up so far and so fast you’re pretty sure you pulled a muscle.

“Excuse me?”

“Just wondering. You did say you liked writing romances.”

Romances, wizard porn, same thing really.

Your tongue darts between your lips again and you attempt to talk without saying something horribly embarrassing.

“Maybe not at first sight. But at…First conversation or something, it’s not impossible.”

Yes, that was a good answer.

She looks at you.

You try to act casual but it probably doesn’t work.

You hear the train far away and sigh.

You make a promise to meet soon again and the train pulls in.

Roxy looks at it somberly.

“It was really great meeting you.” She says.

“Likewise.”

You stand in front of each other and your eyes meet.

You capriciously reach and adjust the hood of her coat, your hands grabbing onto it.

The train doors open. You pull her down and kiss her, your eyes closing then semi-opening.

She tastes like strawberry and cocoa. Her lips are slick with lipgloss and you smell her perfume.

She’s frozen in place, her eyes still open.

You’re expecting her to push you away now, maybe slap you and make dramatic claims of never wanting to see you again.

But she doesn’t.

Her eyes flutter and close, long, fair eyelashes brushing against your skin. Her hands find your waist and she pulls you close.

She’s excitement and warmth and open.

You don’t know if you actually love her, you’ve never been in love before.

But you most certainly would like to kiss her more. A lot more. And spend Christmas with her. New Years too, kissing at midnight after too much champagne, getting together every weekend to talk about wizards and cats and she would introduce you to her family as her girlfriend rather than sister and you don’t want anything other than that but her family oh no

You pull away from her gasping.

“You’re going to miss your train.”

Her eyes open and she blinks once, twice, before cocking her head to the side in confusion. She finally remembers and looks over your shoulder, at the train. Everyone has already left and people are entering in mass.

She stares at you, distraught and back at the train.

“Go.” You tell her and you smile “We can do this again soon.”

“But, you kissed me, oh, you actually kissed me, and, I like you and-“

“I will kiss you again in the near future but you have to go.”

Your eyes are a bit wet. You think she’s actually about to cry.

She is and you laugh a bit, but you feel bad and raise your hand to wipe a tear with your thumb. She smiles and presses against your palm.

“I’m so glad you found me.”

“I know. But you have to go home.”

Roxy looks over at the train, the closing signal starts beeping. She leans down to kiss your cheek and hug you one final time, before she darts. She gets in just as the doors close. You see her sigh and look up at you, smiling. You smile back.

The train leaves the station as usual. You turn away and walk out the station, searching for your car keys in your bag.

You’re still grinning when you get home. You sit at your computer and read Wikipedia’s article on Freud for the 35th time when a Skype notification pops up.

**tipsyGnostalgic**  
hey im home can we just videochat rq                                                                                                 _19:21  
_ I just really need to see you again c:                                                                                                   _19:21_

You’re not sure you’re going to be able to stop smiling anytime soon.


End file.
